


When Life Gives You Lemons (Get The Guy's Number!)

by lizreadseverything



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cringe, Derek is Derek, If I don't chicken out, M/M, SECOND CHAPTER UP THIRD TO COME SUPER SOON!, Scott is the worst wingman ever, Stiles is me in any social situation ever, misuse of lemons, rating may change for later parts (?), this is my first fic so be gentle and and r&r!!!, very short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizreadseverything/pseuds/lizreadseverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One moment, he was having a completely innocent lunch at the Full Moon Café, sipping his lemon water like a normal person, and then, as if in slow motion, disaster struck."</p><p>Or, Stiles and Derek meet unexpectedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is literally the first thing I've ever written. Let me know if you like it! Thank you!! -Liz

After everything happens, Stiles can't even remember what Scott said, only that it was funny, like Jackson-falling-down-a-flight-of-stairs-trying-to-impress-Lydia funny. One moment, he was having a completely innocent lunch at the Full Moon Café, sipping his lemon water like a normal person, and then, as if in slow motion, disaster struck. In telling his hilarious joke/story thing, Scott had made the fatal mistake of not accounting for the physics of reactionary laughing + drinking lemon water + trying to dodge lemon slices. Unfortunately, so did Stiles. When he laughed, in came the lemon slice, and then, in a tragically beautiful arc worthy of dolphin jumps or frogs in the rainforest captured by tedious documentaries, it was projected, launched forward in to the abyss of space, past Scott's head (damn) and right on to the unsuspecting face of the man sitting behind him. Who, of course, was probably the most handsome guy Stiles would ever have the pleasure of looking at. And Stiles had just indirectly spit on him. 

Stiles watched, horrified at the scene unfolding. The slice, wet from spit and juice and water, slid slowly down the perfectly angles cheekbone of a guy who looked like he was a model. Then, with a flick of perfectly trim nails and mouth-wateringly long and lean fingers, the lemon slice was snatched by Lemon Dude, and thoroughly inspected by dangerously beautiful and glimmering eyes. Shit.

By this time, Scott, who clearly had some sort of death wish, had caught on, and was crying with laughter. His hands formed fists and banged on the table, rattling dishes and drawing any stares not previously attracted by the atrocious choke scene. Stiles, ever the mathematician, quickly calculated how hard he would have to slam his head on the table to make himself pass out. Meanwhile, Lemon Dude raised one bushy eyebrow in their direction. He looked down at the lemon slice. He looked up at Stiles. He looked down again. Stiles tried to remember if his dad had bought life insurance. 

Stiles was seriously considering dubbing Lemon Dude Eyebrow Dude, because, holy shit, who needed that much eyebrow? Stiles knew a number of middle-aged women who would be perfectly happy to have a quarter of his eyebrows (and maybe a quarter of everything else, too, because damn). But it didn't detract from his whole "America's Next Top Model" thing he had going on; if anything, it added to his appeal. Made him seem more.. feral, in a sexy way. But then Lemon Dude stood up and started walking toward their table, offending lemon slice in hand. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, Stiles thought, I'm gonna get mauled by this guy and his rabid eyebrows.

Lemon Dude stopped at their table. Scott tried to look like he hadn't just spent the past five minutes possibly going through laughter-induced cardiac arrest. 

"Is this yours?" He asked. No, it's just got my DNA all over it, Stiles thought. No givesies-backsies. 

"Uh? Yeah? Listen, I'm so sorry and like it really was an accident and-" Lemon Dude's eyebrow twitched. Scott was probably drawing blood biting his lip trying not to laugh, that asshole. "Like, it just went flying? Because I choked on it?" No response from Lemon Dude. Not even the slightest concern for Stiles' brush with death, which was ok, because Stiles wished he was dead, too. 

Stiles looked up at Lemon Dude's unfairly beautiful face. He tried for a flirty eyebrow raise. "Do you have anything else I could choke on?" He tried to wink. It probably looked like he had a seizure. Stiles grimaced. Smooth. Lemon Dude remained the picture of stoicism, but his wonderfully kissable lips pursed together. Scott interrupted their blossoming sexual tension by snorting, then poorly covering it up with a coughing fit. Honestly, why was Stiles allowed to talk? Where was the merciful God everyone was always talking about?

Lemon Dude held out the slice. Stiles, taking small, controlled breaths through his nose, took the lemon, but not without brushing against Lemon Dude's skin, which made Stiles feel like he was bursting into flames. Then Lemon Dude, without a goodbye or even a "thanks for ruining my entire day", spun on his heel and stalked off. I'll never forget you, Stiles thought, watching his magnificent ass.

Scott suddenly had the audacity to breathe, thus snapping Stiles back to the present where he and Lemon Dude weren't kissing passionately. Stiles stood, frustrated. "I'm making you pay for my food, you asshole."


	2. The Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles needs to get over both himself and Lemon Dude. Scott has the perfect distraction.

It takes almost a week for them to meet again. Stiles has a week to nurse his embarrassing feelings of heartbreak, which is ridiculous. Who ever heard of being heartbroken over some nameless, random guy? But, then again, every other rando dude hasn’t come into contact with Stiles’ DNA, so he's Stiles' nameless, random guy now. It’s practically law.

By Wednesday, Scott has had enough of Stiles' shit. He's walked into Stiles' room and found, once again, a lump of blankets and tissues and chocolate wrappers, all of which would be considered normal except Stiles isn't playing video games. He's motionless, watching the TV, and next to him is a very large pile of romance movies. Scott turns off "The Breakfast Club" just as "Don't You Forget About Me" starts to play. 

"Hey," comes a muffled voice from the blankets. "I was watching that."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Come on, dude. Enough of this shit. It's not healthy."

"Since when have I ever been healthy? I had Doritos for breakfast." Touché.

"It's a beautiful day, Stiles. And also I might need your help grocery shopping so I don't have to take two trips taking bags back to the car."

Stiles squints up at him. "I thought you had pizza on speed dial?" 

Scott sighs. "It's not for me, smartass. Remember lacrosse has the lemonade stand fundraiser? You know, the one you offered to help with?"

Stiles tries to bolt up, but the blankets and pillows are piled on so high that he only succeeds in displacing the movie stack. "Fuck! I totally forgot! We have to get the ingredients! Scott, why didn't you tell me sooner?! Jesus, that’s today! C’mon, we gotta go!"

Scott rolls his eyes and hands Stiles the keys.

-

After he makes a list of all the things they need, Stiles returns to moping all the way to the store. He can't help it, really. It's second nature by now. Scott had better buy him some chips or something, because right now he's only proven that he's a shit friend who only comforts friends enough to get them out of the house to do fucking manual labor. Stiles briefly entertains the notion of tweeting nothing but a little unsmiley face. 

Lemon Dude would have comforted him. Stiles thinks maybe he would've even stayed and watched The Breakfast Club and cuddle. Stupid Scott. Stupid Lemon Dude.

The Giant is packed with moms and kids and old people, so naturally Stiles loses Scott within the first 10 minutes. Scott says something about checking out the cereal aisle and then, poof, he's gone. Which, what the fuck, they're on Official Business, not some seventh-grade joy trip to get snacks for a gaming marathon. Stiles decides to stick with his gut on what to do next: when in doubt, wander aimlessly until someone starts shouting or he gets hungry. Of course, he still has the list, but he has no idea where the lemon juice is hidden in the drafty wasteland of commercialism. He grabs two bags of sugar, just in case Jackson tries to "help" and fucks everything up. He looks back at his cart, then at the shelf, and in his mind's eye he sees Jackson with some stupid douchey sunglasses and tacky Snap Back, pretending to snort the sugar and knocking over the entire lemonade stand.

He grabs another bag of sugar.

Stiles has a solemn pact with himself to never, ever stop some supermarket worker to ask a question and be proven a dumbass. It's too stressful. Executing conversations gives him anxiety. So naturally the search for the lemon juice turns into a full-blown quest. Eventually he wanders his way over to a desolate corner of the store, unnaturally cold and unnervingly empty. There he catches sight of the lemon juice, grabs two tiny bottles, and makes a mad dash for the well-lit produce section. 

He's still working on his yoga breathing when he reaches the mountain of lemons in between the apples and oranges. Stiles is pretty sure he read in some Buzzfeed article how to pick the "perfect" lemon, whether to squeeze it or smell it or what, so he ends up standing in the aisle, hands on his hips, looking from bright yellow lemon to bright yellow lemon. They're all identical, really. But what if he picks, like, a rotting one? Can lemons rot? He decides to squeeze and sniff the lemons, to cover all his bases and thus pick the Supreme Lemons. He's just gotten the first one to his nose and begins to inhale, eyes fluttering shut, nostrils inflated and all, when he hears a cough from his right side. He cracks one eye back open, keeping the lemon in position. And-

It's fucking Lemon Guy. Eyebrow Man. Fabio with stubble and a sporty haircut. Stiles' star-crossed lover of five minutes. He's still got those beautiful biceps, Stiles reminisces tearfully. He's still fucking ripped. Stiles says a quick thank you to Jesus.

He then remembers who he is, where he is, and that he's currently got a lemon pressed up to his nose like some sort of freak. He lets out a small shriek of mortification, and, in a moment of weakness, hides the offending fruit behind his back. 

Ever the conversationalist, Eyebrow Dude artfully lifts one bushy brow, and in doing so relays every known human emotion. Stiles' face flushes so much that he could hide in the stack of red delicious apples. God, why does this shit always happen to him? 

He's already made a fool of himself, so the best damage control is to just grab another lemon and get the hell out of there, ASAP. Unfortunately, Lemon Dude has the same idea, and they both grab the same lemon. And pull apart from one another, still clenching onto the fruit. Ok, fuck this guy, Stiles thinks. Literally and metaphorically.

"Dude, let go. This is my lemon."

Eyebrow Dude is not amused. "This is a store. It's not yours until it's bought." And holy shit, his voice is that of a sexy angel singing a smooth jazz lullaby. Be still, Stiles' heart. 

Stiles then remembers that he's still annoyed at this smug asshole with a hand on stolen property. "I was here first, and I touched this lemon first, so it's mine."

"No, this is my lemon." Lemon Guy raises his other eyebrow, a challenge. Stiles has never been known to walk away from a fight, though, so if this dude thinks he's gonna go quietly, he's got another thing coming. 

"Bro. There are literally a hundred other lemons in this store. Drop the fruit, and let me go." It’s like trying to get a dog to drop a stick, Stiles muses.

"Why don't you let go, and let me have it?" 

"No." This guy obviously doesn’t understand the sacred concept of finder’s keepers.

"Why not?"

"Because fuck you, that's why!" Stiles shouts, and thank God there are no grandmas or kids in the produce section right now, because he's officially pissed. "Gimme my damn lemon!"

"Just get another one!" Stiles sees the guy's biceps start to ripple, like he's going to snatch the fruit away by sheer force. His jaw tightens. 

Stiles wants to scream. Scott's probably looking for him, they need to prepare for the fundraiser, and he's wasting the whole day fighting over some stupid overpriced lemon that's probably sour anyway! "Listen, buddy," he starts, and the dude blinks. "I'm giving you one last chance to get your grubby little thieving hands off my lemon, or so help me God, I will beat your stupid eyebrows off your fucking face." Ok, that might have been a bit over dramatic. Thankfully, the guy takes a step back, releasing the fruit, and touches one hand to an eyebrow, as if picturing his face hairless. They both look horrified at the thought. Yeah, Stiles totally crossed a line. Oh well. He has the lemon now. He plunks it down into his cart, and turns before his face can get embarrassingly red.

The walk to the checkout line is unreasonably awkward. Stiles thinks he sees the Lemon Guy down every aisle, and at one point is so worked up that when an old lady taps him on the shoulder to ask where the fruit snacks are, he screams and sprints away.

He finally finds Scott waiting for the self-checkout. He has approximately nothing relating to lemonade, just two bags of hot Cheetos and a gallon of chocolate milk. Stiles makes a face. “I thought we only came here for the fundraiser supplies?”

Scott at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “Hey, man, I got hungry. And we’re gonna be at that stupid stand all day, so I need backup snacks. Don’t judge.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and pushes his cart to an open checkout counter. While scanning the sugar, he sees Eyebrow Dude in his peripheral, and goes beast mode and scans all his items at the speed of light, head down. When he’s done, he practically runs to the car, leaving Scott to catch up. He loads the trunk with his bags, starts the car, and locks the doors. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! I'm back from the dead. Hope you like this chapter; I promise the end will be up super soon. Thanks for your patience and love :-) Also, as of five seconds ago, I have a tumblr: lizreadseverything.tumblr.com ! Come say hi!


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